


The last wish

by Last_time_traveler



Category: Men's Football RPF, Original Work
Genre: BL, BL Tropes, Boy x boy, Boys’ Love, Bullying, Comedy, Football, Friendship, Homophobic Language, Italy, Locker Room, Love, M/M, Magic, Pining, Romance, Rome - Freeform, Sarcasm, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slash, Slow Burn, Soccer, Three Wishes, bad boy, idiots to lovers, sport, talk about sterotypes, tall blonde blue eyes, teenage angst, warm and fuzzy feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_time_traveler/pseuds/Last_time_traveler
Summary: Tiziano sucks at football.During the last two years, he's had a crush on Simone, the team's best player, who probably feels sorry for him.And then there's Claudio, the terribly handsome team's captain, who's also a terrible bully. His favourite hobby seems to be closing Tiziano in the lockers.What will Tiziano do, when a strange woman (with a weird fixation for cartoons) grants him three wishes? Three wishes with three limits: you can't kill anyone, can't make people fall in love and can't bring anyone back from the dead.***The story has already been finished and is being currently translated from Italian. I will update once a week, every friday!You'll probably appreciate this story if you like: sport, swear words, sweat, plot twists, main characters who are hot messes and... a little bit of magic too.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Tiziano’s secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we know our main character, his hopeless crush, and his mortal enemy.

The net swelled, and for a long instant a heavy silence descended upon the field.

Tiziano stared at the ball incredulously, as it fell on the back of the goal.

A defender uttered a crazed scream, and the cheer of the fans hit the small pitch like a tsunami.

The player who had just screamed grabbed Tiziano by the shoulders and shook him, looking him in the eyes with incredulity mixed with joy, before being swamped by his teammates in a collective hug.

Their jerseys were striped, white and blue. Tiziano's onewas garnet, with light blue sleeves.

Tiziano hadn't scored a goal for two years and four months. He had imagined so many times the moment in which he would be able to put the ball in the net again. But in his dreams it was always the rival net.

The referee blew his whistle three times.

That was it. A.S. Castrum lost. And it was his fault.

The rival fans were applauding, from the stands. Tiziano picked up a sorrowful: "...fucking embarrassing!" somewhere behind him. He glanced around and made eye contact with Simone.

In his bright eyes, there wasn't hate, there wasn't anger. There was just compassion. A sad, unbearable compassion.

Tiziano felt his cheeks heat up and turned his head, overwhelmed.

 _How much better it would be_ , he thought, _how much better, if you just hated me. Like everyone else._

Paralyzed by the shame, he wasted a couple of seconds brushing the dirt off his shorts, pinched off a clump of grass which was stuck on his knee, and threw it away.

The white-blue players were happily embracing each other. The dark red ones were tiredly dragging themselves towards the exit.

_It seemed so easy..._

He just wanted to clear the ball.

On two-two, on the ninety third minute, on the right of the penalty area, with the goal frame reduced to a narrow rectangle and the rival striker running from the left. It was simple, almost stupid, but it was an important action. It was his chance to redeem himself, to make his teammates forgive him for all the mistakes he had made during the match.

But his foot had hit the damn ball in the wrong spot and in the wrong way, making it shoot off in a totally unpredictable direction. The goalkeeper was out of position, the defenders man-marking the other forwards.

And the ball had gone into the net.

Two - three.

Tiziano sighed, not managing to understand what had gone wrong in his coordination, and then decided to proceed towards the exit, head down.

He just made a few steps, when a shoulder check almost made him fall on the ground. "Thanks, asshole!" Someone whispered in his ear as they passed him.

He saw the unmistakable grey back with the number one: it was Paolo. If he and his inseparable bully group were going to target him, today, Tiziano wouldn't have blamed them. The _betas_ , that was the mental nickname he appointed them. Paolo, goalkeeper, Stefano, defensive midfielder, and Federico, centre back. Subordinates and devoted to the chief bully supreme alpha, as well as team captain: Claudio, centre forward.

" _Daje_ , c'mon, good game, lads! Don't be upset, it was just a friendly!" Valerio said, with a benevolent smile to the players going out.

"Yeah, against the worst noobs of the round" Michele replied.

Valerio was the coach of the Under 18 team, an ex bank employee with a passion for football, who had decided to get a coaching licence after retirement. He had a strong fondness for Tiziano, even if he was the worst player of the team. Valerio insisted that Tiziano's disastrous inability to manage the ball with his feet was just a mental block. Tiziano agreed with the diagnosis, because a couple of years before he had been good. Very good. But he was beginning to think it was an insurmountable block.

When he reached the fence, Tiziano quickened his pace to avoid Valerio talking to him; comforting him aloud, in front of everyone, with one of his classic emphatic and embarrassing speeches. The last thing he needed was to look like the teacher's pet for the umpteenth time.

Fortunately, Valerio was distracted by Paolo, who stopped by to complain. "Why d'you let him sub? We were winning two nil, for fuck's sake! And then I made a fool outtamyself, with those three goals..." Paolo's voice faded behind Tiziano, as he quickly walked towards the locker rooms.

He entered the low concrete cubicle, traversed the short corridor and went into the guests' locker room, expecting to be greeted by a choir of hoots, teases, groans.

 _Why did I accept to sub?_ He thought. _Even the psychologist told me to start gradually, from basic exercises._

Surprisingly, his teammates ignored him. Everyone. Even the betas, who seldom let the bullying opportunities slip.

No one was talking. The only sounds were the pitter-patter of the shoe spikes, the zippers opening, the bags slammed on the ground.

Tiziano didn't have the slightest desire to look at them in the face, but he could perfectly envision the long faces and the expressions of disdain. He thought about the retreat on the mountains, in only two days, and his stomach knotted at the idea that he would have had to spend a week with them, twenty four seven.

With a fleeting glance, Tiziano identified Simone's red hair in the corner of the room. He was facing the wall and was about to take his t-shirt off.

With two steps Tiziano reached his locker. He wasn't going to shower with the others: he didn't want to annoy and provoke them with his presence. He wasn't even going to get changed. He was going to ride his bike like that, dirty and sweaty, shin guards and uniform. But he had to pick up his bag and his things: his cellphone, his mint new Converse sneakers, and the Gareth Bale Wales jersey from the European Cup.

 _We were winning two nil..._ Paolo's words echoed in his mind.

Then Valerio decided to let him in at the 83', and thirteen minutes were enough to endure three goals. All three, in one way or another, thanks to him.

The Converses were on the ground, under the bench. He opened the bag zipper and grabbed the shoes, thinking about the bike that was waiting for him, chained to the rack, outside the sports ground. He couldn't pedal with the spikes, but he was going to change shoes outside. The only thing that mattered, now, was to scoot off, as soon as possible.

But just when he was thrusting the shoes into the bag, Valerio entered the room, vigorously clapping his hands. "Let's not demoralize ourselves!"

Tiziano emitted a grieving sigh. Now he had to stay.

"I liked you, today. Good attitude, even in the final minutes. I have nothing to reproach you for. It was just bad luck."

"Tizio changed his name? They call him _bad luck_ now?" Claudio said, entering the room.

All the boys laughed at the joke, and Tiziano felt his face burning.

Claudio, Captain Claudio, the ultimate alpha male, was a bizarre mix between a scarecrow and a norse god: blonde, light blue eyes, greek statue profile and model features, he was taller than 1.90 meters, for eighty kilos of muscles, testosterone and prickness. He was so tall that he looked a bit disproportionate; his long limbs and shambling movements gave his figure a touch of imperfection, which made him even more interesting. He was seventeen, as everyone else, but he looked at least twenty.

Claudio kicked one of the benches, making the two players who were sitting on it jump up. He didn't look like he was angry with them (or with anyone else). It probably was just a simple and childish desire to frighten them.

"Guys, y'know who Tizio reminds me of?" he said with a sarcastic smirk.

Valerio crossed his arms and looked at him with a vaguely annoyed attitude.

"Lionel Messi" Claudio solemnly announced. Then, after a brief pause: "When he's crappin **'** on the toilet!" All the boys in locker room burst into laughter.

"We really are a disgraceful team" someone commented, still laughing.

Tiziano was usually able to stick up for himself and reply to Claudio's stupid jokes, but today his mood was on the ground. It was the first friendly of the season, after the summer break. For two months he had pondered if he should be giving up soccer altogether, but at the end his passion for the game had won. After he had asked a psychologist for help, he decided on a gradual reapproach strategy.

Claudio and the betas were a problem, sure, but by now he had taken their measurements and he knew how to keep them under control. Especially the betas. You couldn't reach a hermit crab level adding up their three IQs, so it was just too easy to reply to their mockeries and offend them to death. For this reason he decided not to change teams. Even if other teams from the Castelli Romani would have accepted a player like him, he didn't know who he'd find there. Maybe the bullies would have been even worse.

But there was a second reason that made Tiziano want to stay there. An even more important reason.

Simone.

The best player, the playmaker.

They talked about main team, for him. They talked about Serie A tryouts. But for now he was still there, with them, with the Under 18 of A.S. Castrum.

And he was the kindest, the gentlest, the most sensitive boy Tiziano had ever met. The opposite of the oafish pack that was the locker room.

One of Simone's smiles was worth a hundred of Claudio's mockeries. He was a rare pearl, a knight in shining armour, a...

"Aye, Tizio! You're as useful as the ending credits in a porn!" Claudio's joke, and the subsequent roar of laughter, woke Tiziano up from his fantasies about Simone and made him understand that it was time to go away.

The betas were laughing haphazardly, sucking their breath with hiccups and thrashing their feet on the ground.

Tiziano was about to close his bag zipper, but in the haste, a lace of the shoes he just put in wedged into the teeth of the latch.

"Stop it!" Valerio said, but no one listened.

"Hey guys, what'd'ya think **'** bout signing Tizio up for the paralympics?" beta Stefano said, shivering with laughter.

Tiziano frantically tried to move the zipper up and down to free the lace without managing to accomplish anything.

"Guys, enough!" Valerio rose his voice. "You're a team, you must support your mates in need!"

Tiziano damned the moment he decided to put the shoes in the bag: he could have taken them by hand and just worn them on his feet outside.

"Did you listen?" beta Federico said. "We must support each other. Now we'll have to collect money and buy a wheelchair for the handicapped!"

Tiziano was always surprised by the betas' ability to elaborate thousand of variations to the same tacky joke, and by the fact that his mates seemed to find each variation funnier than the previous one.

He didn't have the guts to look at Simone. He didn't want to see if he joined in with the laughter. It would have hurt too much.

He finally made the decision to put the semi-open bag on his shoulder and leave, but he was stopped by Valerio's compassionate gaze. He was just standing between Tiziano and the door.

_Please, don't say anything._

Valerio's mouth opened. He was going to speak.

_Please don't say my name. Pleasepleasplease pretty please!_

"Tiziano."

_Boom!_

"I know what you're thinking."

The laughter died and everyone turned to watch.

_No, you don't, otherwise you wouldn't have talked to me._

"You feel responsible for the loss. But you don't have to."

I want to teleport home. Now. Beam me up!

"Everyone can lose a ball in the midfield." He was referring to the first rival goal, an action spurt from the first ball Tiziano touched, thirty seconds after he was in. Touched ball, lost ball, counterattack, goal. "Gianluca also lost that vicious ball, in the first half. And in a more dangerous pitch zone."

"For fuck's sake, coach!" Gianluca (leftback) burst out. "You can't compare my lost ball to his!" He waved his hands in Tiziano's direction. "I retrieved the ball with a tackle after I lost it. The moron, here, stumbled upon his feet trying to catch the midfielder!"

Tiziano bit his tongue to avoid commenting. Classic Gianluca: playing absent-mindedly and remedying his own errors with fault-prone actions. He often succeeded, but he had taken lots of cards because of that flaw. Tiziano tried many times to explain him elementary tactical concepts like _anticipation_ and _interception_ , but his teammates were too cocky to accept any piece of advice from the dud of the team.

Yes, he was a dud. But he was far ahead everyone, even Valerio, regarding technical and tactical knowledge.

"Don't you dare talk like that about your teammate!" Valerio reprimanded Gianluca.

"But..." Gianluca started.

"Shut up!"

Tiziano desperately swiped a hand on his face. Valerio didn't understand that the more he defended him, the more he intensified his teammates hate.

"And about the second goal," Valerio went on, undaunted in his good intentions, "Itdoesn't matter if the rival defender stole your ball, your shot attempt was admirable!"

"Yeah, everyone is admiring it" Claudio commented. "His miss with pirouette and crash on the ground it's already viral on YouTube!"

Everyone laughed, again. Tiziano felt his heart dive, pierce his diaphragm and plummet into his stomach.

"One hundred thousand views in one hour!"  
"Please, tell me someone really filmed it..."

"Stop it, guys!" Valerio shyly protested, widening his arms.

"Someone post it on Reddit, please!"  
"Well, if Tizio becomes trending topic on Reddit we must make him captain!"

"Enough!" Valerio shouted, stomping a foot on the ground.

"The own-goal wasn't bad, either.."  
"Is there a Puskas award for own goals?"

Valerio finally understood he just lost the battle of _Decoubertinian sport ideals_ VS _Locker room stolid banter_. He bitterly shook his head and exited the room, muttering unintelligible words, ignored by all the boys.

"I swear I saw it bending!"  
"Like Pirlo's _maledetta_ "  
"Such class..."

Tiziano tried to take advantage of the confusion and sneak out, swiftly following Valerio, but a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" beta Federico said. 1.85 meters, walrus neck and sloping eyes which made him constantly look sleepy.

"Home," Tiziano answered. He sadly glanced at Valerio's back.

"Do you really think we believe this bullshit?" Claudio said, coming forward. Then he gazed at the entire locker room with great expectation in his eyes, which meant: joke coming. Everyone was looking at him, ready to laugh. Claudio opened his mouth to pronounce his verdict.

And what came out was totally unexpected.

"We all know you're a fag!"

The joke was incomprehensible, and apparently lacking any rational link to the premise. Tiziano felt adrenaline gush from the center of his chest.

Claudio uttered those words as his facial expression and voice tone changed. He said it seriously, not with his usual buffoon face. It didn't seem like a joke, it didn't seem like mockery.

Tiziano's secret was public domain.


	2. Last one in the showers...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Tiziano learns his teammates are growing shittier and shittier...

But no, no.

Just no. 

It was impossible Claudio knew. No one knew that Tiziano was gay.

He was always very careful having a detached attitude towards Simone, or not looking at his most handsome teammates' rear ends. He expressed the right amount of appreciation for tits and asses of the cutest girls. He was careful at home, also: he locked the door, cleared his browser history, and deleted all possible data and metadata every time he watched porn. He had never told his parents, he didn't have any close friends to confide to.

No, Claudio couldn't know Tiziano was gay. Impossible.

_We all know you're a fag._

He went through the words of that nonsense joke, to find a meaning in it. But why should he? Fag and poof were Claudio's favourite insults.

But the supreme alpha male was still staring at Tiziano, with those narrow, accusatory eyes.

Only after a few seconds the right corner of Claudio's mouth slightly curved up. Tiziano felt his stomach relaxing: the line was clearly the beginning of a refined two-part joke and the sketch closing was about to come. Tiziano couldn't wait to see what pinnacle of comedy Claudio would have reached this time.

And the joke finally came: "Fag and gerontophile!"

"Ger... what?" someone asked under his breath.

"The ones who like old people" another boy answered. There were some not too convinced laughs. Tiziano doubted anybody was understanding what point Claudio was trying to prove.

"Well," Claudio said looking around him and openly smiling, "first Valerio defends him: no, poooor Tiziano, don't huuurt him, don't say that he's stupid, let's make him play even if he sucks as shit. Then this one," pointing at Tiziano, "as soon as he notices Valerio goes away, he tries to run after him... there's a love story going on, lads!"

Loud laughs.

"Gross!"  
"Who bottoms?"

Tiziano wiggled out of Paolo's grasp and made two confident steps towards the door, but beta Stefano placed himself in front of him.

"I guess it's the coach" Gennaro said. "As he was going away Tiziano was looking at his ass with such a horny face..."

"Let me pass though" Tiziano tried to reason with Stefano, calmly.

"Nah. Tizio is the girl." Stefano looked at him in the eyes, viciously. "I think he gives him his ass to play. It's the only possible reason why Valerio always lets him sub."

"Really? Are you a man-whore, Tizio?" Paolo came forward. He was wearing only his underpants and he vigorously rubbed his cock, protruding his pelvis towards Tiziano. The laugher faltered. Just the betas were still sneering with unchanged enthusiasm.

Tiziano gulped, his mouth wet.

"Last one in the showers has genital herpes!"

The voice who had just uttered that suave provocation was Simone's. There was a sudden hustle and everyone jumped to the shower room, screaming and laughing. In the confusion, Tiziano met Simone's worried gaze. He nodded his head towards the exit door, like he was trying to say: _go away_!

He had done it for Tiziano.

Who would have loved to savour that moment: Simone had distracted them with that trivial challenge just for him, just to let him run away.

Simone was so good, so... noble! He always had a kind word for Tiziano, he always tried (unsuccesfully) to help him during practice, he looked always sad when the betas bullied him, he always tried to defuse the tension when the jokes became too heavy.

Tiziano didn't know why he did it, they've never been good friends.

But now he couldn't just stay there, fantasizing with heart shaped eyes in front of everyone. It wasn't a smart move. So he threw himself towards the door like a salmon against the flow. He was almost there, he almost did it, but someone had not answered Simone's challenge.

Claudio and the betas. All four. Standing in line in front of the door, like a barrier on a free kick.

"Ain't yagonna shower?" Paolo said.

"You stink!" Federico added.

 _Here we are_ , Tiziano thought, almost bored. The things they were saying all brought to the same old conclusion: they were going to throw him dressed under the showers. Tiziano lost the count of the times they did it.

"I'll do it at home" Tiziano said, trying to escape his destiny.

"With your boyfriend?" Claudio asked.

"What, are you jealous?" Tiziano replied.

There was a: "Oo-hoo-hoo" choir from the betas and a chuckle from Claudio.

Tiziano immediately bit his tongue and regretted the retort. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and decided for a desperate move: he decided to ask them politely: "Come on, guys, please, let me go."

"Of course we let you go." Claudio rapidly fluttered his eyelashes and extended his lips in an angelic smile. "But first you'll have to wash!"

Tiziano didn't even begin to protest. One tore his bag off, the three others lifted him up and transported him in the shower room.

The teammates who were washing hailed them with a triumphant cry.

"Tizio is the last one! He has genital herpes!" someone exulted.

He was thrown under a running shower, dressed like he was: uniform, shin guards, boots. The ice-cold flush choked his breath. He gasped, without noticing they were pouring shampoo on his head, and the bitter foam streamed right into his mouth.

"Blargh!" Tiziano tried not to puke.

"How's the water? Are you cold?" Paolo asked.

"He's shivering, poor boy. Wait, I'll help him. Valerio told us we must help our mates in need, right?" Stefano said.

Tiziano felt a tiepid sensation on his leg and he immediately understood what was happening, even before seeing Stefano pissing.

He shook off his leg, disgusted. "Stop it!" he shouted, extremely upset by what was happening.

"For fuck's sake, are you stupid?" Claudio roared.

"Gosh, sorry, did I spray you?"

The room was quiet, all of a sudden. Just the betas were still laughing. Were his teammates embarrassed for Tiziano? What were they doing? Were they watching? Nobody said one word. The shower water was forming a veil on Tiziano's eyes, and he could only see the shadows of the people surrounding him. Where was Simone? No, he didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about him watching. It was so humiliating.

"Come on, he's clean, now" Claudio said. His voice seemed a bit annoyed. "We can put him away". He turned the shower off.

"What do you mean?" Federico asked.

"Well, where do you put things after you wash **'** em?" Claudio's question was rhetorical, Tiziano already knew the answer.

But clearly Federico didn't, because he stared at his alpha with a cretin expression.

"In the locker!" Paolo exclaimed, as he had been bolted by a sudden stroke of genius.

"Locker!" Claudio yelled, smiling. "Lo-cker! Lo-cker! Lo-cker!" He started to chant. The betas promptly joined in. "Lo-cker! Lo-cker! Lo-cker!"

And here it was, the morons' second classic practical joke, actually Claudio's personal favourite: shoving Tiziano into a locker. Every time, Claudio came up with some stupid new excuse. Once because: "You always stumble, we are putting you here so you can stand straight up"; then because: "We need a jukebox in this room!" And they tried to force Tiziano to sing (he refused); another time simply because: "You're too ugly, I don't wanna look at you anymore."

But it had always happened in their home locker room, where the lockers were wide enough to let a normal sized man standing in it (although not comfortably).

The lockers of this facility looked small. Very small. The betas and Claudio pushed Tiziano in forcedly, squeezing him like you do with a bunch of clothes in an already full suitcase. Tiziano didn't fit in.

"Stop it, fuck! It's too small!"

"What? Your cock?" Federico said.

Tiziano was in pain, but he found the nerve to reply. "So you're into big cocks, huh?"

Federico's face literally melted into an outraged expression. It was just so easy to offend them. "You fucking piece of shit!" he cried.

They went frantic: their cheeks were red in excitement, their eyes wide open, their mouths distorted in exalted sneers. Twisting his ankle and deforming the locker wall, they managed to put even his last body part into the cubicle and close the small door. "You just can't give up..." Claudio said just before closing it. There was anger in his eyes, but also a sort of sad incredulity.

Tiziano kept screaming. His body was contorted in an unnatural way, the neck sunken into the chest, the knees pressed against the door, the ankles bent on the inside, the arms crooked to the back. He could breathe, yes, but he felt like he was suffocating, closed into that dark, small closet.

"Let me out! Now!" he yelled.

"Don't bust my balls" said one of the four.

"Let me out! It's too narrow! You idiots!"

"His voice went so high pitched!"  
"You think we crushed his balls?"  
"His balls never came down!"

The betas voices distanced. Tiziano went on screaming. He could hear new voices, now. It was the first teammates coming back from the showers.

"Lemme out!" he yelled again. With the head in that position his voice was muffled.

Tiziano heard beta Stefano saying, from the distance: "Don't you dare let him out!"

"I-i wasn't going to!"

The voice who just stuttered belonged to Andrea.

Andrea wasn't a bad guy. He was one of the few half-decent people, there, so Tiziano decided to give it a try.

"Andrea? Help me! Open the door, please!"

"Gosh, I'm such in a rush!" he said.

Tiziano sighed. He should have known better: Andrea wasn't the cruelest, but he wasn't the bravest either.

So he went on, calling random names: "Gianluca? Marco? Michele? Gennaro?"

"Gennaro is jerking off" said someone.

Giggles.

"It's too small, I'm not joking! It's painful! Let me out!"

No answer.

"Alex? Andrea?" Tiziano said. "Please!"

His teammates went on giggling. They started to chat, about school, girls, the recent Leicester City Premier League title, the fantasy football auction, thousand of different topics, totally ignoring Tiziano.

"Guys, open this thing!" he desperately yelled.

"How is it, without Valerio defending you?" Gianluca said in a sharp tone. "Tiziano here, Tiziano there... and you... always there to suck up. Now do it on your own!" He was obviously still bitter for Valerio's reproaches.

"I've never sucked up to anyone!" Tiziano protested. He couldn't stand the man's attention either, and he'd never done anything to make Valerio like him. The only thing he had done was to work hard and give one hundred percent at practice. But he didn't do it to please the coach, he did it because he loved football. Even if he was inadequate, he loved football with all his heart, and - as Claudio had said just before - he couldn't give up in the face of his problems. He just loved to wear boots and shin guards, and tread the threadbare lawns and muddy soils of the provincial fields.

Still closed into the locker, he didn't complain anymore. He understood he wouldn't have accomplished anything. They would have opened, in a few minutes, after they'd had scattered his changing clothes somewhere. They always did. He just had to be patient and resist.

The time passed and he got used to the uncomfortable position. His limbs went numb, he felt no pain anymore. The chit-chat of his mates became an indistinguishable bustle.

His uniform and his boots were soaked of water (and maybe still a bit of urine), but it was the end of August, the temperature was still warm, so the wetness didn't bother him. He felt his fingertips wrinkle for the humidity.

The voices and the noises faded. The boys were leaving.

"Ciao!"

"See you on monday!"

"Is it true this year a female team will join us in retreat?"

"Football girls are all lesbians..."

"What about the volleyball team that came last year?"

"They won't come. A chick complained that someone touched her ass in the dining room as she was passing through the tables."

"Who was the hero?"

Laughs.

"Their reaction was over the top..."  
"Now if you just approach them to talk they sue you!"  
"Well, there will be no risk with the football girls: they're not girls, they're men."  
"Gross!"  
"Oh, shut up, you're so pussyholic you would even jump Elisabetta Scamarci."  
"Nooo! Not Scamarci, please!"

More laughs.

Someone knocked at the locker door.

"How are you, asshole?" It was Stefano.

 _Oh, finally,_ Tiziano thought. They were about to open.

"Awful" Tiziano answered.

"Good!" the other replied. "See you guys!"

Was he leaving? Who was still there?

"Can I come out, now?" Pun not intended.

"I'm gonna bring some condoms, just in case" Claudio said. "You never know..."

"Claudio!" Tiziano shouted. "Open up!"

"Don't you hear like... a buzz?"

"Don't talk bullshit. Open this damn thing!" Tiziano said, shoving the locker door.

"Bah, it must be a bluebottle stuck somewhere. See ya guys!"

"Claudio!" Tiziano yelled. He tried to move, to hit something with his fists, his knees or feet, anything, against the walls of that tin can that was crushing him, but he just managed to get stuck in a more uncomfortable position. "Who's still here?" he cried. "You can't leave me here!"

"I'm so excited to see the girls!"  
"See you!"  
"Bye!"

He heard the locker room door closing with a loud clack.

"Help!" he screamed.

No one answered.

Could it be everyone went away? Could it be they left him there, like that?

And what about the opponents? They were changing in the locker room next door, had they gone home too?

"Heeeeeelp!" he screamed from the top of his lungs. But the bent neck prevented him to put volume in his voice. The locker in which he had been thrusted was on the opposite wall to the door. And the door was closed.

Nobody would have heard him.

Tiziano was shook by a shiver of pure terror, because he was sure of one thing: if he had stayed there, twisted and crushed, all night long, he would have died.


	3. Murder, she wrote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we find out Tiziano’s anti-boner mantra.

Tiziano began shaking violently, trying to break the closet door open, or at least deform the metal, but every movement worsened his position. He heard wordless screams coming out from his mouth and he was so overwhelmed by panic that it almost seemed to him like a different person was doing it.

After a couple of minutes he calmed down, not because rationality was taking control of his mind again, but simply because he was tired.  
He started crying. A dry, feeble cry.

An indefinite amount of time passed, maybe a couple of minutes, it felt like an eternity.

And then the entrance door made a sudden noise.

Someone had just came in.

"Help!" Tiziano immediately screamed.

Who was it? A janitor? Yes, of course! There must had been a janitor, how stupid of him not to think that.

"Thank god! Let me out!"

"Well, thanks, but _God_ it's a bit too much."

Tiziano was almost moved to tears: it was Simone. Always him, his prince charming.

"Simone, is that you?"

He felt Simone messing around with the lock and shaking the closet door. "Fuck, it's stuck. Push!"

Tiziano pressed his knee against the door.

"Come on! Push more!" Simone uttered.

Finally the door collapsed with a crash and Tiziano fell out on Simone, making him fall too, on his back.

They looked into each other's eyes for a long instant, just centimeters of distance between them, before Simone turned his head abruptly. 

"Er..." he mumbled, trying to push Tiziano away.

Tiziano didn't cooperate, but not because he wanted not to. "You have to help me. I'm like... paralyzed." 

He was so embarrassed. And he was still wet, so he was wetting Simone's clothes too.

Simone coughed. He moved beneath him rubbing and shifting, and Tiziano mentally thanked the heavens his sense of touch was partially surpressed, otherwise his body reaction could have been awkward. 

After a couple of shifts and rubs too much, Simone managed to lift Tiziano's semi-immobilized body. He grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to make him sit with his back against the wall, but he pushed too much and Tiziano slid on his flank.

"Ouch."

"You can't even stay seated?"

"Uhm, yes, I think. Wait." Tiziano lay his elbows on the ground reactivating the nerves of his arms, which after the long compression felt like thousands of needles piercing through his flesh.

Despite the pain, he managed to sit up with a moan. Simone kneeled in front of him and put a hand on Tiziano's shoulder. Even that simple touch on his itching skin caused Tiziano pain, but he held back the complaints: he would have liked that hand not to move from there, ever.

"Everything ok?" Simone asked. He was looking him in the eyes with a concerned stare and Tiziano felt his heart flip in his chest. He wanted to say something to thank him. Something that didn't sound like the fainting whimper of a distressed damsel just saved from peril. He would have liked to express his gratitude in an honest, direct, simple way.

He opened his mouth and the only thing he managed to say was: "Tha..."

"So that's true. You're a fag."

Simone moved away from Tiziano and turned to the door, startled: Claudio was watching the scene with a disgusted frown. He nodded towards Simone. "But I would never have expected you were too."

"Stop talking bullshit!" Simone bursted out.

Claudio took off his outraged mask and giggled. "Fag-got! Fag-got!" he chanted. "What the fuck are you doing here? Did you come to save him?" He added, pointing at Tiziano like you would to a dog turd on the sidewalk. Then he hit Simone with his knee, making him stumble. Laughing, he grabbed his arm to prevent him falling and Simone laughed too: «Stupid!» he cheerfully said.

And there it was, in front of Tiziano's eyes, what he considered the greatest mystery of the universe: Claudio and Simone's friendship.

"Of course I came to save him" Simone said with nonchalance. "If the janitor found him, you know we could have got into trouble. No, sorry, not _we_. _You_. You and those three assholes. I wouldn't have taken responsibility."

"Relax! Relax!" Claudio replied, putting his hands in front of him. "What ya think, that I'm stupid? I thought about the janitor too!"

"You're not stupid. You have low intelligence." Simone smirked.

"I just waited for the others to go" Claudio said, "otherwise they would have busted my balls. They just think about beatin'and thrashin'..."

"...and pissing." Simone completed the sentence and Claudio, for the blink of an eye, seemed caught off guard.

"Gosh, Stefano's such an idiot" he said in a bored tone.

"What the hell were you thinking? That was disgusting!" Simone shot a fleeting glance at Tiziano who didn't dare to interrupt: it felt nice being defended. Especially by Simone.

Claudio raised his hands. "What does that have to do with me? _That idiot_ did it!"

"You know perfectly well _that idiot_ , no, _those three idiots_ do whatever you tell them to do..."

Claudio widened his eyes. "Are you implying I told them to piss on this moron? You know I'm not a fan of golden showers. I told them nothing. I'm not their father, they do what they want."

"Oh, admit it" Tiziano snapped. "You enjoyed it!"

Claudio laughed. "I surely enjoyed cramming you into that thing. Did I manage to cripple you? So you'll finally stop bothering us and get to play in the paralympics, as Federico said..." He tapped a finger on his lower lip. "Or was it Stefano? They all have that same _Italian seventies comedy_ sense of humour..."

"While you're a master of British humour" Tiziano replied. Lame response, but he was still a bit emotionally upside down because of the scare and because of the beautiful gesture of Simone. He wouldn't have been able to elaborate a witty reply even if he had another hour to think.

Claudio, though, seemed to appreciate the comeback with a little chuckle.

It was always like that with Claudio: sometimes it looked like life itself was one gigantic prank for him. He joked about everything and mocked everyone, and it often looked like he didn't even realize that he hurt the person he was mocking. Sometimes, even when he shoved Tiziano into a locker, it seemed like he did it in a humoristic spirit, with levity and not in a sadistic way.

Tiziano didn't know if it was just an impression, and couldn't say if this was to be considered an extenuating or aggravating circumstance.

But it wasn't always like that.

There were times Tiziano could feel Claudio genuinely hated him.

Like that day.

He had looked so pissed, as he was closing the locker door. While pronouncing those words: _you just can't give up._

But why try to find obscure motivations in Claudio's behaviour? He was a bully, plain and simple. That was it.

And to confirm the sad truth, Claudio just spit out another menace: "Uh, and if you just try to say something to Valerio..." He ended the sentence sliding his throat with his thumb.

"You're such a drama queen..." Simone said shaking his head with a mocking smirk. Claudio laughed.

Tiziano looked at them, smiling and joking together. How was it possible? How could those two be friends? And it wasn't a superficial friendship, they were _best friends_. On one side Simone, the perfect guy: gentle, good, shy, melancholic. On the other Claudio, the prickish bully: rude, cad, coarse, overbearing.

They stood there, talking to each other, right in front of him.

Claudio slapped Simone's shoulder energetically. "Daje, let's go." After a little hesitation: "I've seen Bea outside."

Beatrice was Simone's girlfriend, and also Tiziano's ex.

The story between Tiziano and Beatrice, his first and last desperate attempt at heterosexuality, dated back two and a half years, when they were both fourteen. It ended after three months of kisses and tentative touches. Tiziano had always thought it would have never worked out, even if he hadn't been gay: she was too much of a party girl, while Tiziano was a calm, solitary guy.

Simone hooked up with her not long after the end of Tiziano's fling. At the beginning he had seemed very captivated, but now he clearly wasn't in love with her anymore. However, their relationship wearily dragged on.

"Yes, she was in the audience" Simone said.

"The fuck, what a show you made her see..."

"Well, I scored!" Simone said, chest thumping. "And I also made the assist for your goal!"

"Listen, let's change the subject and talk about more interesting people... when are you gonna answer Mariangela's text?"

Simone rolled his eyes. "I've told you: I'm not interested."

Mariangela was one of the countless girls Claudio had tried to fob Simone off, to substitute Beatrice. The official reason was that (textual): "Beatrice has done her time. Also, you don't like her anymore". But Tiziano didn't believe the act. It was so obvious Claudio liked her, and wanted her for himself. After all, she really was a beautiful girl. And one of the few Claudio had never managed to seduce with his looks. What a naive eye could Interpret as camaraderie, was instead a devious tactic to steal Simone's girlfriend and add a new victim to his endless flirts collection. Tiziano was sure of that, and his contempt for Claudio worsened every time he heard him name a new possible match for Simone.

Fortunately, Simone had never fallen for it, and Tiziano was intimately happy about that. Simone was with Beatrice, but he wasn't in love with her, that was blatant. At the same time he didn't seem to be interested in other girls.

This gave Tiziano the smallest, feeblest hope.

_Maybe he also... he also is..._

"You're so boring! I've never said you have to fuck her. Reply to the message. Maybe you'll find out she's nice?"

"Let's go. Bea is waiting for me." Simone said, with a serious face and closed fists.

Claudio snorted. "And where are you going? To the bar?" 

The question seemed to irritate Simone even more. "No. We're going home."

Claudio snorted again. "Well. Ok. At least try to get her to blow you."

Simone's tense expression finally softened. "If she falls for it..."

The last exchange between the two boys, triggered a series of inappropriate images in the brain of Tiziano, who couldn't manage not to visualize himself in the shoes of the lucky Beatrice. He closed his eyes, and to avoid any embarrassing reaction he started mentally humming the intro to _Murder, she wrote_.

 _Murder, she wrote_ , was Tiziano's personal anti-arousal mantra. It was a tune that evoked sleepy, soothing, low-energy memories: all the mornings of his primary school years he had spent home with a cold, or the Sunday lunches with his granny.

And that benevolent old time's mood: the albertine piano, the caps-locked typewriter, the merry smile of Angela Lansbury riding her bike. 

_Ta-rira-ri-raaa..._

And while Tiziano was envisioning Jessica Fletcher with a flashlight on the crime scene, Simone and Claudio went away, talking about blowjobs. Claudio didn't even bother to say goodbye, Simone gave Tiziano a quick but absent-minded: "See you..."

It was always like that, with Simone. He was kind with him, but detached.

Tiziano couldn't have called him his friend, they had never talked to each other for more than a minute. And, obviously, in front of the others Simone was never too explicit in his attention towards Tiziano. Tiziano understood perfectly the other didn't want to show interest in the lame of the group. Simone was not to blame. In his place Tiziano would have probably behaved the same: Claudio and the betas were so toxic.

Seeing that Simone cared and noticed Tiziano's problems was enough.

_Why does he care?_

In a tiny little corner, in the background of Tiziano's mind, there was a hidden answer that he didn't want to let go.

_Maybe he also... he also is..._

The rational side of his brain took over again. Tiziano hit his forehead with a fist. Unfortunately there was no Eighties TV series intro that could take those ideas away from his mind: he didn't have an anti-love mantra.

He picked up his shin guards and tried to stand up. His legs were all pins and needles, but he managed to move.

He looked around him: where was his bag? The four idiots had probably taken it outside and scattered his contents on the field, like they always did.

He didn't want to immediately go outside, as he preferred to avoid seeing Simone sticking his tongue in Beatrice's mouth. And then, when they got home...

_Don't think about the blow-job now. It's not the time._   
_Ta-rira-ri-raaa..._

He aimed for the shower room to wash his leg - when he thought about it he could still feel the disgusting warm sensation - and when he opened the door he found the first surprise: his bag.

Soaked wet and opened, under one of the showers.

"Hurray" he said with a totally unenthusiastic voice.

He went near the bag and noticed it was empty.

He looked around: no trace of his things. Had they taken his clothes outside?

_Or..._

A revolting feeling clenched his stomach.

"Tell me they didn't do it..." he whispered.

He dashed to the loos.

First he saw the shoes. Into a vertical urinal.

Getting closer, he smelled a pungent stench and noticed some greenish spots on the blue canvas.

His mint new Chuck Taylors... He had bought them on sale only two days before.

He then examined the WC cubicles. And the other things were there: trousers, socks, cell phone... and his beautiful Gareth Bale Wales jersey.

He felt a sting in his eyes, but he held back the tears. Those assholes didn't deserve tears.

He found a broom in a closet, and used the handle to retrieve his things. He rinsed them under a shower jet, with a worrying sensation growing in his guts.

_They've just raised the bar._

This was a first time. It was like they had came back from the summer vacations with a new obsession with pissing. What was the next step? Hitting him? Hurting him? They had never done such things. The worst they ever did, before the present day, was throwing him dressed under the showers or locking him up in the lockers.

Tiziano thought about the retreat. Was it a good idea to go? Was he in danger?

He had already paid the fee. And he _wanted_ to go. Because he wanted to train. He desperately wanted to try.

He wanted to be good again. Like when he was little.

He sadly remembered the time when he had thought he could do it, that he could break through. The time when he had been good, no less than the best.

And then the Roma scout had come.

He had come for him, to watch him play, and in a match that could have turned his life around Tiziano simply, stupidly had had a panic attack.

His psychological fragility had always been there, waiting for him. Waiting to make him crumble. He just had never realized it was there. And it had taken him by surprise.

The fear of making a mistake had suddenly and unexpectedly knotted his legs, tightened his muscles, and everything had gone wrong.

That day, the worst day of his life, the scout had left the field, disappointed and annoyed by the waste of time, and since that day Tiziano never recovered.

He had all the right qualities to play well: he was athletic, strong, fast, he had good coordination too, when he did anything except playing football. But as soon as he interacted with someone, ball on his feet, the panic built inside of him and paralyzed him. For two years he had restlessly dwelled on the problem. For brief periods of time he hadn't gone to practice with the team and trained alone, hoping to unlearn all the bad habits. And when he was alone it always seemed to be a little better, or maybe it was just an illusion due to lack of reference points.

But every time he had come back, nothing ever changed.

That summer he had asked a psychologist for help. He was a colleague of his father (who worked at the university as art history professor), but hadn't been very useful in aiding Tiziano understand the reasons of his psychological block.

He had talked to him about performance anxiety and the fear of confrontation, and Tiziano had found all his observations pretty obvious. However, the man had given him one simple and good advice: to go step by step. First simple passes. Then stops. Then he could try some kick-ups. And so on, to see if he could find his old self again.

The shower water was still pouring on his things. He woke up from his memories and threw everything into the bag.

_No, I won't give up._

No alpha or beta would have made him renounce his passion.

He would have gone to the retreat.

But now, he just had to go home. He desperately needed a shower and a change of clothes. And he hoped to be able to wash his things better, with the help of some good detergent and a washing machine.

His cell phone was still in one of the WCs. He pinched it with two fingers and picked it up. He rinsed it in a sink and then washed his hands with soap. He didn't think he could have made it work again, and he wasn't sure he had some backup phone at home. Maybe some old wreck belonging to his father.

The bag was soaked, but he would have had to take it home on his shoulders, riding his bike. Fortunately, home was just a few kilometers away.

He went out of the sports field. The sun was low on the horizon, but it was August and the evening was warm and sultry.

Outside the field, nobody was around anymore. Tiziano's bike, chained to the racks, was the only visible means of transport.

Actually, no. There was a scooter parked on the sidewalk next to the bushes, and Tiziano would have recognized that scooter among thousand. It was Simone's.

While he unlocked the bike, Tiziano looked around. He noticed a coffee bar, on the other side of the street, about ten meters ahead. Maybe Simone was there with Beatrice, even if he had told Claudio he wanted to go home.

Tiziano mounted on the bicycle seat, lifted the kickstand and started pedaling. The bag was leaking on his back and the muggy heat revived the nauseating urine smell.

 _I don't want to pass by_ _the bar_ , Tiziano thought, _I don't want Simone seeing me and pitying me any further._

God he just hated to see pity on his face.

 _I don't want to pass by_ _in front of the bar_ , Tiziano thought,pedaling right into the direction of the bar, irresistibly attracted by the idea of seeing Simone's face even only for a second.

 _What am I doing? Now I'll turn the handlebar and go back where I came from,_ Tiziano thought, as he was almost starting to see the people sitting at the tables.

And as he stepped up the pedaling to overtake the building as fast as he could, he saw him.

Or, better, he saw _them_.

Simone and Beatrice, alone. Tiziano's bike was whizzing and he couldn't avoid looking at them: sitting on the same couch, their hands intertwined, two beers on the table, their mouths pressed on each other's. An anthem to carefree heterosexuality.

_Relationship crisis my balls..._

Tiziano's head was still ninety degrees turned. The impact was violent and unexpected.

He heard a noise like cracking wood, a dead thump and clashing metal.

Tiziano emitted a long scream during those infinite seconds his body flew from his seat to the tarmac.

In the beginning he didn't feel any pain, and for a while he stayed motionless on the ground without being able to understand what had just happened. Adrenaline flowed in his veins, crazily pumped by his frightened heart.

"What the fuck..." he muttered. He sat up and incredulously looked at the external side of his right leg, red with blood and dotted with dirt and asphalt. As he was looking at the scratches, Tiziano finally started feeling a burning pain on the leg. At the same time several different dull aches claimed their attention from other parts of his body: shoulder, elbow and cheek, in particular. He touched his cheek and it felt wet. When he looked at his fingers he expected to see blood, but it was a transparent liquid instead.

And after some seconds he understood: he had thumped his head against the wet bag he was wearing on his shoulders. That disgusting bag had maybe just saved his life, or spared him from a concussion, softening the fall.

"Wheew" he whispered, thinking about what could have happened.

It was just then he turned to see what he had hit, what had caused the accident.

And he saw with horror it wasn't a _what_. It was a _who_.

A woman's body was lying motionless in the middle of the street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here's the new, fully refurbished chapter. The Italian readers may have noticed some changes in the dialogues and some cut and paste between this chapter and the previous one: yes, I'm not just translating, I'm taking this opportunity to do some editing as well.
> 
> See you next friday, and leave me some kudos if you liked the chapter!


	4. Crappy sword and sorcery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Tiziano meets a weird witchlike woman...

Tiziano instantly forgot about the pain caused by the fall. 

_I've just killed her!_

He rushed to her with wobbly legs.

"Ma'am!" He cried, his voice cracking with terror.

She hadn't even made a sound when Tiziano had first hit her with his bike, at full speed. How could that possibly happen? Had he killed her on the spot?

When he reached her body, Tiziano didn't know what to do. He examined her for a moment: she seemed quite young, but her hair was as white as snow and cradled her face with frizzy locks. She was skinny and her clothes were Gipsy-ish looking: she was wearing a long orange skirt, a light scarf draped over her chest and tons of shiny metal bracelets around her wrists.

Tiziano desperately tried to recall anything from the first aid lesson that a grumpy doctor gave the team the previous year. Making his way among the bracelets, he took the woman's wrist and tried to check the pulse. He couldn't feel anything and the whole rattling-bracelets thing was only confusing his perception. He moved his fingers up and down her forearm, in a helpless attempt to find any sign of life, but he was so trembling and sweaty that the task was nearly impossible.

Before Tiziano managed to do anything, the woman gasped and turned her head slightly. Tiziano was so relieved that he almost felt like fainting.

"Don't move!" he ordered, remembering that the last thing you should do if someone gets hit is moving their head.

The woman didn't listen to him, and kept moving her head, looking around.

 _Well, at least we know that she can still move_ , Tiziano thought.

Then, she fixed her eyes in Tiziano's. "Seem like a destiny's herald caught me in their plot..." said the woman with a thin, raspy voice.

"Come again?!" Tiziano wasn't sure he heard right. He scratched his head, uncertain about what to do. "Maybe I should call an ambulance..."

He took his phone out of his pocket, but when he saw the black screen he remembered that it had drowned in a damn crapper.

"No, don't do that!" the woman said, sitting up. "I don't trust those butchers that you people keep calling doctors."

Tiziano left his broken phone on the ground and put a hand on the woman's shoulder, trying to reassure her. "Ma'am, you could have a concussion, lemme..."

"Mandragora roots left to macerate in a decoction of poppy for twenty-four moons at the dawn of summer. I think I have four ounces of that aside in my lab."

"Poppy? Mandrag... yeah, ok." Tiziano pinched his nose root firmly, trying to organize his thoughts. "These are clear symptoms of a brain injury. Now I'm gonna to call 118 for real. I'll ask for help in the bar, over there." 

"No!" the woman yelled, grappling Tiziano's shirt as he was trying to go. Tiziano realized he was still wearing his football uniform and football shoes; he noticed that the fall had caused an ugly tear on a sleeve.

_Great. I even managed to ruin the uniform. Valierio's gonna freaking kill me..._

He tried not to mind the uniform and paid attention to the woman: she seemed to be utterly confused. Should he let her go away all alone? Maybe it was better to stay with her, just a couple of minutes more.

"Oh, I see... I see..." The woman's expression became melancholic. "There's something troubling you in that tavern... don't go. You would suffer."

Tiziano hesitated, thinking about Simone, who was inside that very bar with Beatrice. Then he shook his head.

"Ma'am, listen to me. Relax. I've just hit you with my bike. You could've hit your head, you should..."

"Shush, you fool!"

_Shush, you fool?_

"Don't you dare telling me what I must or mustn't do. I'll medicate that by myself. And I'm perfectly fine."

_You fool?! Who the hell does she think she is, Gandalf?_

The woman let out a long sigh. "It was destiny that made us meet. Nothing ever happens by chance."

Using Tiziano's arm as a support, she stood up resolutely and judging by how energic she looked, it really seemed like she was alright. So... she was nuts, plain and simple? She talked like she just came out from a crappy sword and sorcery movie.

"This morning I felt a turbulence in the aethereal forces, I knew something would have happened. I knew I would find you." Then, clenching Tiziano's arm with an unsuspectable strength, she scanned his face with half closed eyes. "You! You... there's an obscure energy oppressing you..." She waved her hands, like she wanted to dissipate an imaginary cloud of smoke. "Someone wronged you."

Tiziano's thoughts ran to Claudio, to the betas, to the locker where they had squeezed him, to the piss on his leg and on his clothes.

"Well, actually..."

_What am I doing? Am I really gonna chat with this crazy lady?_

"It's not just today" she went on talking. "This cloud has been suffocating you for a long time. Two years, I dare to say."

Those bullies had begun tormenting him precisely two years before, after his failed A.S. Roma tryout. His life had begun falling apart in that period. It had been like they were just waiting to vent all the frustration and the envy they had hatched during all the time he had been a good player.

Tiziano sighed, realizing he was giving credit to the words of that Gipsy sorceress who had clearly lost some marbles.

"Listen," he said, "I know these cheap psychological fortune-teller tricks. You say vague things and throw in some wild guesses hoping you get it right. Everyone's life's a little fucked up, you don't need magic to know it."

The woman stared at Tiziano in surprise for a second. Then a lopsided grin slowly appeared on her face.

"Ah, sad is the destiny of us talented folks! We bestow our services to a world that doesn't appreciate them!"

"Ma'am, please lemme go!" Tiziano said, and he tried to wriggle out of her grip. The situation was getting creepier and creepier. Moreover, the pain of the scratches and wounds he got by falling was rather itchy. He just wanted to go home, hit the shower and then go to sleep, hopefully forgetting that horrible day.

"Wait. Wait just a moment." With her free hand the woman went through a little bag she kept tied around her waist. She took out a bizarre looking pair of round spectacles with a big golden frame full of small levers and gears. When she put them on, Tiziano noticed the lenses were red, and so bright they looked like they were lit from the inside.

"Ok, you've just went from _probably ill_ to _absolutely nuts_. Let me go." Tiziano tried to free his forearm from the woman's fingers, but those little claws seemed to go deep into his skin, such was the strength she was putting into the grip. "Let me go, I said!" He lifted his eyes to her face and the woman was staring at him with a terrified expression. She abruptly let Tiziano's arm go and put her hands on her mouth.

"You're out of your mind!" Tiziano said, backing off a few steps, almost stumbling on his feet: the football shoes didn't help, at all.

Then a car passed by. Tiziano didn't realize until that moment that the road, a usually busy one, had been desert for the last ten minutes.

The car slowed down and a short haired girl popped out of the window with a cheerful smile on her face. "Everything alright?" Then she glanced at the lady, who was still wearing those absurd spectacles and was pointing at Tiziano with her trembling finger. The cheerful smile disappeared from the girl's face. She sunk back into the car seat, clearly disturbed by the odd scene.

"Everything's fine! I'm leaving!" Tiziano replied in a not too calm voice.

"Hey!" The girl glared at him. "What've you done to your leg? Do you... y'know... need help?"

"I'm fine, it's just a scratch. I have my bike." Tiziano grabbed his sodden bag, that was still lying next to the dent bike, and put it on his shoulders.

"It's my responsibility! I must remedy!" the witch shouted, pulling at her hair like she wanted to rip them off her head. "I must act! Pronto!" She looked desperate.

"Right... I'm leaving." And then the girl was off, the only thing left behind was the light screech of tires.

"Imma leave too". Tiziano took his bike. But just when he was going to get on it, he remembered he left his phone on the concrete, right besides the witch. It was probably broken, but he wanted at least to try to fix it.

He turned and saw with horror that the witch lady was picking it up. "This will do! Technlological trickeries are excellent catalysts." The red spectacles were still on her nose. Tiziano dropped bag and bike and raised a finger towards the woman. "That's mine!"

But the complaint was useless. The woman held the phone to her chest with both her hands, then hunched her back and with a raucous voice begun to babble unintelligible sentences.

"Gimme my phone back!" Tiziano exclaimed, trying to sound confident. But the woman only answer was raising her voice.

"Za Woka Genava! Za Woka Genava!"

Tiziano stared at her with a stunned face for a couple of seconds, powerless in front of all that absurdity. The woman started to rhythmically stomp her feet on the concrete.

"Blursh! Meshaloob! Blursh!" she enunciated.

The phone in her hands was turned off, and - more importantly - it was broken, Tiziano was sure about that, but for an instant he thought he had glimpsed a purplish glow. Maybe the phone had started working again and the woman had inadvertently turned it on. However, the lock screen used to be blue, not purple.

He ought to do something, he couldn't keep staying there, bewildered, staring at her like an idiot.

"Give me back my phone. Now!" Tiziano spelled the sentence syllable by syllable.

But the woman's only answer was lifting the phone to the sky like it was a trophy, yelling: "Atohteh!" She put so much intensity in her gestures and in her voice, that Tiziano had the impression to be struck by a heat wave. The strange sensation made him falter.

 _What the fuck..._ Tiziano slapped himself on the cheek to recover.

"The phone!" he said, reaching out with his hand. The woman dropped on her knees, looking exhausted, with her hands now folded over her heart. She was panting. She took a deep breath and looked up to Tiziano all of sudden, giving him back his phone, at last. Her arm, from where it was emerging from the scarf, looked like a bare twig.

"Three wishes," she said, "three only limits: you can't kill, you can't revive, you can't force someone's love."

_Three wishes? What the heck is she talking about, now?_

Tiziano grabbed his phone with an abrupt gesture and glanced at it. It was turned off. What was the glow he had seen, then? He might've had an hallucination. Or maybe it had been just a reflection of the sunset. Yes, that must be it: a reflection.

"Call an ambulance, I think you need it" Tiziano said, without even looking at her, heading straight to his bike. The cellphone in his hand was warm. Very warm.

_Of course it's warm, she held it for like half an hour! And judging by her state, she probably has fever or whatever._

"You must hold the magic item in your dominant hand and pronounce the formula: _Pampuru Pimpuru Pam Pom Pum_. Then express your wish loud and clear, thinking about what you truly want. Remember: will is power!"

Tiziano finally got to the bike. _Pampuru Pimpuru Pam Pom Pum_.?! He was sure he had heard that silly sentence before... maybe in an animated series? Anyway, the hospital wasn't enough for her. That woman needed a shrink as soon as possible.

He didn't bother looking back. He didn't want to interact with her anymore.

"Wait! There's more!" the woman shouted.

But Tiziano didn't buy it, this time: he wouldn't reply. He wouldn't look at her anymore. Mad people must be ignored. He jumped on the bike. The handlebars were a bit crooked on the right, but Tiziano decided he would manage to arrive home without other accidents.

"I understand the reason why you wouldn't look at me. Your heart is filled with fear, young man, because this is a power bigger than us. But listen to my advice: use the power wisely. Don't seek for revenge, improve your destiny!"

 _Bye bye, Castelli romani's sorceress_. Tiziano pushed on the pedals and left.

"Improve your destiny!" she yelled behind him. "And don't forget the limits!"

As the bike was gaining speed the woman screamed something else, but her words got lost in the distance.

Tiziano didn't turn back. The scratches hurt, the bag stank and his mood was under his shoes. He just wanted to get home, as soon as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, is there any foreign reader out there yet? I'm confident you'll come, soon. I feel like I'm in that old movie, Field of Dreams: "If you build it, they will come..." (name any sports movie / anime / manga: I have seen it).
> 
> I don't know if anyone recognized the magic words: Pampuru Pimpuru Pam Pom Pum, they are from a majokko Anime that was very popular in Italy during the Eighties and Nineties. As you will see, our weird witch is a bit obsessed with cartoons of any kind.
> 
> See you next friday, and leave me kudos if you like the story!
> 
> Ciao!

**Author's Note:**

> **Unsupervised welcome notes**
> 
> Hi everyone, and welcome! 
> 
> I wrote this story between 2016 and 2017, and published it on Wattpad in italian. If you are curious and you understand Italian, you can find it on my profile: my nick is “Ellasnufkin”, its title is _[L'ultimo desiderio](%E2%80%9C)_ \- but please please PLEASE DON'T PUT SPOILERS in the comments, if you read it.
> 
> I’m publishing this translation on Wattpad too, you can find it [here](%E2%80%9C)
> 
> This is the english translation of that story. Thanks to Marvy for the precious help and proofreading. I want to point out that she didn't check these notes, so they're likely to have a lot of mistakes (sorry for that)!
> 
> The story is set in Italy, and tells the ups and downs of Tiziano, Simone and Claudio, three boys from the "Castelli romani", which is how are called the towns and little cities set in the southeastern countryside near Rome. There will be: football, toxic masculinity, rudeness, swear words, lots of laughs, a couple of tears, hormone explosions, turn of events and a little bit of magic.
> 
> I hope you will all learn to love and hate these three boys, their good qualities and their many flaws.
> 
> The characters have a lot of Rome in them. Expecially Claudio. In the original version he almost exclusively talks in roman dialect, and has a tipical roman quality in his deeply sarcastic, crude, a bit bully way of interacting with other people. The dialect, unfortunately, is lost in the translation, but I hope his other qualities are not.
> 
> I chose to leave some roman words, here and there, to add some color. They will be very few, very easy and easily understandable, I promise! There's one in this very chapter, "daje" (the "j" is pronounced like "ee"'and the "e" like the "e" of envy), which means "come on!". If you happen to visit Rome you will hear it very often!
> 
> Since English is not my first language, there may be some mistake and weirdly phrased sentences. I will be glad if you'll point them out in the comments, so I can improve the writing (and my English too, hopefully).
> 
> I will **update** once a week, **every friday**. Leave me **comments** to let me know what you think, and if you like what you've read, leave me **kudos** or bookmark the story! :)
> 
> Ciao!


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